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Sip Happens: A Journey Through the World of Wine

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            “No poem was ever written by a drinker of water” – Horace.

            Throughout history, wine has been the beverage of choice. Jesus turned water into wine, the gladiators toasted a great murdering beast with wine and royalty from around the world have cellars stocked with the most intriguing, expensive, and rare wines ever made. It’s no wonder people turn to wine as their drink of choice. If it’s good enough for Jesus and murdering gladiators, then who are we to disagree?

            Wine has also made many leery. Purchasing the wrong bottle for that special occasion can throw a chink in the armor of good taste. And when your host opens that cute wine bag you took so long choose, only to pull out a wine they detest or one they can’t pronounce, it can get awkward. “Oh, gee thanks KJ. This crap will go great with those Cheetos over there.”  It happens. It’s hard not to look like an amateur wine connoisseur when there are so many pretty labels out there just begging you to try them. How are you to know which wine is the best for which occasion when yesterday you were just trying to wear pants that fit? It’s a struggle.

            I thought I would list a few words out of the twenty-four I found to describe this lovely beverage to assist with the buying of said wine. We don’t want you to look like a total neanderthal. I mean, I have two words (technically it’s four) in my vocabulary to describe wine. “Good,” and “not-so-good.” There is no such thing as a bad wine. Only bad taste. Let’s dig into a couple of these tenacious terms so we can look a little more sophisticated and not so obtuse when venturing into the liquor store. You. Are. Welcome.

  • Balance – Balance is simple. It is simply when a wine is smooth and harmonious, and not one flavor sticks out among the rest. We all need balance in our lives, so why not let the wine balance us out?
  • Tannins – Tannins basically refer to the drying sensation left in your mouth after drinking. Mainly found in red wine, tannins are naturally occurring compounds found inside grape skins, seeds, and stems. 
  • Terroir – Terroir is a French term which translates to a ‘sense of place.’ It refers to how a particular region’s natural conditions like its climate, soils and terrain affect the taste of the wine.
  • Earthy – While many wines are described as ‘fruit-forward’, an earthy wine will have aromas of wild mushrooms, forest floor and autumn leaves. I love me some autumn leaves. Typically, “earthy” wines include Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot and Pinot Noir.
  • Nose – A nose is just a nose, except in this case. The first step when tasting wine is to smell it. The word ‘nose’ is just the fancy way of describing the scents and aromas of the wine. Also, using the word ‘bouquet’ to describe a combination of aromas in the wine will really impress your guests. Give it a go!

Now, I don’t know all this information off the top of my head, I mean how impressed would you be!  I had help. If you want more of an inside look at wine, I found this wonderful information here. I encourage you to check it out for yourself!

Not to be outdone, I have come up with some wonderful terms of my own that should amaze and delight your friends. Feel free to use at your will:

KJ’s Wine Words

1. Grape-ful Thinking – The optimistic belief that the more grapes you think about while sipping wine, the healthier it becomes. Bonus points if you can name all the grapes in your glass!

2. Merloved It – The feeling of deep affection for a Merlot that surpasses the ordinary liking of wines. You might find yourself writing love letters to that special bottle.

3. Chardonnayway – The classy and graceful exit you make when someone starts criticizing your choice of Chardonnay. Because, let’s be honest, you’ll enjoy your buttery delight Chardonnayway!

4. Somm-thing’s Fishy – The suspicious feeling that the sommelier is recommending the most expensive wine just to see if you’ll flinch. Use this term cautiously when questioning wine choices.

5. Corknosis – The hypnotic state induced by watching someone expertly open a bottle of wine. You’re so mesmerized that you forget you’re waiting to drink the wine.

6. Tannin-tastic – When a wine’s tannins are so bold and robust that you momentarily forget what you were talking about. “This Cabernet is tannin-tastic! Now, what were we saying about aliens?”

7. Zin-derella Story – The magical transformation that occurs when a Zinfandel perfectly complements a dish, turning an ordinary meal into a fairy tale feast.

8. Bubblybloop – The delightful sound that occurs when you accidentally spill a bit of your sparkling wine. It’s not a spill; it’s a celebration!

9. Noirgasm – The overwhelming pleasure experienced when sipping an exceptional Pinot Noir. It’s like a flavor explosion in your mouth, and you might need a moment alone with your glass.

10. Corktastrophe – The disaster that strikes when you break the cork while attempting to open a bottle. It’s okay; just filter out the cork bits, and no one will be the wiser.

Personally, I like mine better. More in tune with the company I keep. Know your audience and all that.  It should be noted that not all wines are created equal and just because the bottle is at a higher price point doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a better tasing wine. I’ve tried twelve-dollar bottles that can rival any thirty-dollar bottle. The taste is with the taster and if you enjoy it, that’s all that really matters.  I’ve been to a couple of wine tasing escapades, one in Tuscany, Italy and I have to say the wine was wonderful. It could have been the history of the family, the region the wine was made, the great company we had and the atmosphere of sipping wine and cheese in a traditional winery that had us giddy with delight. Or the amount of wine we had. We could have stayed all day had they let us.

Next time you venture out to get that special someone a bottle of red, white, or rose, remember your wine words and have fun. Nothing is better than a nice glass or five with your besties and the Cheetos that pair well with that Cab. Enjoy!

European Adventure Episode 4 –Italian Santa is Enshrined in a Random Church in Italy and I’m Not Sure I’ll Ever Recover

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                Our adventures didn’t end once we were off the ship. We had a couple of days in Rome before heading back home, so we were determined to make the most of them. Fully healed and recovered from my previous traumas, we stepped off the train in Rome and were instantly overwhelmed by traffic, noise, and people. Or at least I was overwhelmed. Not sure about the others. I could say who gives a shit if they were overwhelmed, it’s all me here, but I’m a much a better friend than that. Kinda.

                On that note, we got to the hotel, dumped our luggage, and started walking. I was a mere monkey on a string and followed the well-heeled travelers among us who assured me we were on our way to the Colosseum. The walk to the famed ragged stony structure was adventurous. The sun was beaming, the crowds were streaming, and we were sweating. All signs of a good walk to a major landmark in Rome. I was awed by the buildings and wanted to snap pics along the way, but the determination to strike one landmark off our list before lunch was strong. We walked and walked and when I thought we were finished, we walked some more. And then as quick as turning a corner, there it was in all it’s glory. Just standing there waiting for us. “It’s about time you guys showed up. It’s hot out here. I was wilting under this hot sun, you know. What took you so long? You stopped for pictures along the way, didn’t you? Rookie tourist mistake.” Only, all of that was in Italian and strongly telling me off with some spicy words thrown in for good measure.

The Colosseum in all it’s snarky hot glory

                We stood in awe, snapped a ton of pics, moved along to another part of the grounds and on our return walk realized The Boss had been in town the night before doing an outdoor concert. The stage was just coming down and we walked around the barriers and could imagine what it must have been like to attend a Bruce Springsteen concert in Rome under the stars with the Colosseum as a backdrop. There were rumoured sightings of him at a hotel which we staked out with the rest of the crowd because you know, when in Rome and all. But he was in hiding or simply wasn’t there and we moved on. We had stuff to see!

                The Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, Vatican Square, eating Gelato in the middle of an alley were all part of our treks; destinations we had planned to see and went searching for.

The Pantheon
The Trevi Fountain

But sometimes it’s the things you aren’t looking for, the things that present themselves in unusual ways, that are the most interesting and entertaining. And memorable. Like falling off a train or getting lost in a city or near misses from buses that make you appreciate the unusual, the inane and the unique. I think I bring that to the table most times. But not always. Things pop up or you stumble upon an interesting building or an old, abandoned arena or an apparent arbitrary church with no real tourist attraction other than it’s a beautiful church. And an Italian Santa happened to be ensconced in its walls in statue form, lying in state in some sort of weird shrine to Christmas. I guess they felt the nativity scene had been overdone and why not include Santa in our little church of wayward angels. I think it was a church dedicated to all the angels who weren’t as cool as Gabriel or Michael. Those whose jobs were a little less on the monumental-save-humanity scale, and more on the making-sure-the-trees-leaf-this-year scale.

An outside view of the church
Entrance to the church

                When walking into the church, there were crowds sauntering around, the doors wide open to welcome visitors. Frescos adorned the ceilings and statues along the walls. We followed the crowd, thinking this was a famous church with amazing architecture and stained glass. It was and as we descended deeper into it, there were what appeared to be altars at different areas of the church, all with the angels standing guard barely dressed and looking at their feet, or gazing skyward in a winsome I-wish-was-as-cool-as-the-angel-of-saving-the-universe. We couldn’t figure out what the name of the church was, but we did find a plaque on the outside of it.

The beautiful ceiling

               

One altar within the church we happened upon had a statue lying as if in a coffin, dressed in red with a white beard and elf-like shoes. SANTA! Could it be?! But why would a statue of Santa be here in some random church in Italy? An Italian Santa!

Affectionately named Santa Antonio

                Perhaps an artist decided that there were enough Baby Jesus statues adorning all the churches across Italy and he wanted to dedicate his Italian Santa statue as an homage to Christmas, or, to warn Christians the evil of Christmas.  I mean, what better way to honour Jesus and Christmas at the same time than a statue of the big guy honouring THE BIG GUY. Happy Birthday Jesus and Merry Christmas Heathens, here’s Santa Antonio. His last wish was to be dressed in red and immortalized in this church to remind you Christmas is hedonistic. And apparently, very dead. Enjoy yourselves, but remember Santa Antonio is here waiting for you to kneel at his statue and repent for all the presents you didn’t give your mother. Now, go over to the other side of the church and visit the Baby Jesus statue and wish him a Happy Birthday.

                We had difficulty recuperating following our discovery of Santa, but we decided to look around a bit more before we just up and left without so much as a Merry Christmas.

                *In truth, it appeared to be a beloved Cardinal, who must have dedicated his life to the religious teachings to his community. This was their way of honouring his memory. But I still love the Santa angle.

After doing a bit of searching, this translates to, “I will be favorable to you at Rome.” Meaning, When St. Ignatius had a vision of Jesus carrying the cross and saying this to him. He then started the Jesuits.

                See? Sometimes it’s the usual things that pop up in a trip that make it memorable. And despite our obvious delight at seeing Santa immortalized in a church, we remained as respectful as we could muster. The shoes, though!  We snapped some other pictures and said, “Ciao,” to Santa Antonio and took our leave.

                We were unable to get in to tour the Sistine Chapel or the Vatican, but I hear it is phenomenal. And, based on my assessment of the previous church, it may be better I go with a guide or someone more schooled in religious figures lest I twist a beloved Cardinal or Bishop or Pope into some strange version of a Christmas Elf or the Easter Bunny.

European Adventure Episode 3 – You Gonna Drink That? Tuscany is My Motherland

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            Following our days of hiking up the hills of Cinque Terre and the stairs that led to heaven, only to have to turn around because SOMEBODY went the wrong way, we were able to venture back to the ship virtually unscathed and ready to tackle the next day.

I don’t mean to overshadow our time doing the three towns of Cinque Terre. They were lovely, we shopped, and we climbed, and we ate. All the things one does in Italy. I didn’t want to bore you with, “Well, in this town we climbed a million stairs, climbed upwards among the cliffs, took some pictures then walked down again. The end.” Makes for a lackluster story. Especially since there was no falling, tripping or being thrown from an overcrowded bus. I know, it’s shocking but I really fared quite well. And that’s thanks largely to Hubby and friends who lent arms, elbows, shoulders, and other limbs to assist lest gravity had stepped in to overtake me leaving me to tumble down all the lanes, steps and cliffsides. “Watch out! Rolling Canadian incoming!”  

Cinque Terre and those amazing cliffsides that no one wants to see me roll down!

The following day, we connected with our tour guide Sara who drove us to Pisa and on to Tuscany for some wine tasting.       

            The day was cloudy and rainy which made for a quick trip to Pisa. We ventured around the tower, took the customary, “Oh-no-the-tower-is-falling-let-me-hold-it-up-with-my-little-hand-and-make-it-all-better!” poses, bought a souvenir, and tried to get our own Gene Kelly to do his singin’ in the rain routine, but he wouldn’t bite. Woulda been the best pic.

The tower is peeking around the corner to say, “Bonjourno!”

From there, we ventured into the countryside of Tuscany. To say it was breathtaking is an understatement. We were awed by the lush farmland, the cypress trees lining the drives into the vineyards and the sprawling hills. Amazing scenery.

            We ended up at Palagetto winery which Sara had selected as we wanted something traditional and intimate. Surrounded by greenery, tall trees, and little flowers, it was the perfect country setting for wine and company. We entered the front doors and were greeted by our hostess, Gina (Cannot remember her name, so I invented one. She looked like a Gina to me.) She escorted us to a room off the main where a round table set for seven awaited us. Surrounded by oak barrels full of wine, it was as if we had become a part of the operation and were settling down for a break from a morning’s work.  

            The family tradition has been passed down to the daughter of the owners, Ariana, and at the tender age of 28 she is making her own mark on her parents’ legacy with new wines using new methods. We were treated to both wines, traditional and new, which they served with cheeses and bread and their honey which they also made onsite. We tasted the white wine as well as red. We ate and drank as if we belonged there.  All sumptuous and we had a difficult time tearing ourselves away from the lovely atmosphere. And all that wine. The poor souls among us who weren’t wine drinkers, had to donate their glasses to worthy causes like me…and their spouses, although, how could you not drink that wine? Dude. It was WINE. IN ITALY. That’s like going to a Chinese restaurant and ordering a hamburger. IT’S JUST NOT DONE.

The honey and cheese. Yummm…
Inside the winery with all of that wine…
The reason for my existence. I love Tuscany

            I don’t think I need to elaborate on the enjoyment of the wine tasting. My only regret is that we couldn’t stay longer, like a day or a week. Tented out in the vineyard, maybe? Ugh.

            From there we went on to San Gimignano. A small walled city steeped in a history I can’t remember and fraught with shops and restaurants. The wine was great and probably inhibited me from completely downloading the history of the town into my memory, so you can see a bit of it here.

San Gimignano. The walled city

Sara booked us in a small little hole in the wall off the beaten path for lunch, Il Feudo. It appeared as if it had been a church at one time. The original brick gave the space an antique vibe with the white tables and chairs setting it off nicely. The floor was a grey tile with white pillars seeming to hold up the ceiling. Paintings adorned the walls with built-in coves containing statues which brought the idea of a church basement into view. Quaint and bright with great food, we enjoyed our lunch.  And if you are wondering if I had wine with lunch, do you even know me?! Italy. Tuscany region. Lunch. So much wine, so little time.

So good…

Sara returned to retrieve us, and it was time to head back to the ship. I hated leaving Tuscany and all that wine to just sit there. I mean, can we take a barrel or two with us?

No. No we couldn’t and as dismayed as I was to just LEAVE like that, no farewell toasts, no drunken slurring of That’s Amore, we had to head back sober and with all faculties intact or face the alternative of not getting back on the ship to finish our Italian journey. For me, the debate was real, but I was with other people and hated to have Hubby get on that ship and endure the last few days alone. Without me being there to pester him and entertain him with all my wobbly walking and graceful pratfalls, he would miss me! Maybe.

So ended our Italian Wine Tasting and Touring. I will need to go back as there were way more wineries needing my attention. I need to wander through the vineyards, taste the grapes, pour the wine, and drink my face off. Isn’t that what happens in Tuscany?  We drink, we eat and drink and eat some more? Wander the countryside barefoot in a flowing skirt and large hat in the hot sun, wine glass in hand waiting for the handsome farmhand to…

Wait. Sounds like a new idea for a book. Gina and Tomas, ill-fated lovers who are destined to be together under the Tuscan sun, the only thing standing in their way is the Vineyard overlord who refuses to allow his daughter to marry a lowly farmhand. She boldly decides to strike out on her own. She and Tomas will start a new winery with new methods that will challenge her father and all his traditions…

 OOoohhh…

The gals with Sara, our tour guide extraordinaire.

If you are planning a trip to Italy, I highly recommend a tour guide like Sara. You can book her here. She was very thorough, full of history and a joy to be with!

Ciao!

European Vacation Episode 2-Throw Mama from the Train

Posted in Misguided Musings, Uncategorized by

            After the Barcelona incident, you would think I would be more aware of my surroundings; that I would consider my current abilities and limitations and act accordingly. No. No thought of how to best maneuver my way around cities and towns ever entered my brain. No thought to how I would manage possible stairs, trains, or hills. I followed the crowd to the slaughterhouse and reveled in it.

At some point in our travels, it was brought to my attention that when wandering in other countries or cities, nothing beats the train. We don’t have a train in Newfoundland, so train hopping isn’t a thing here. It’s an experience that we’re not used to. So, when we travelled to Europe, taking the train was an obvious option. Everybody takes the train. To save time while we were sightseeing, we would hop on a train to get to the next venue. It was a quick and convenient way to get from point A to point B without much hassle.  I had no idea they could be such a vindictive bitch.

Villefranche street
Walking to the train in Villefranche

            Our ship tendered to the town of Villefranche, where we took the train to Monte Carlo. It was a warm and sunny start to the day, and we were looking forward to seeing the casino and all the beauty of Monte Carlo. Casino Royale, anyone?  Catching the train was easy and we were in Monte Carlo in no time. We walked from the train and immediately fell into the preparations for the Monte Carlo Grand Prix. Barriers blocked the streets, and bleachers were erected all along the main routes and security personnel were directing tourists away from all of it.

            We strolled the city and really enjoyed the park and the casino. Lush gardens, perfect buildings reaching the skyline, and luxury yachts parked in the marina ready for the race. We stopped on the main street and ate pizza in a little restaurant after walking around town and enjoying all the sights.

Monte Carlo marina
Monte Carlo getting ready for the Grand Prix

            Now, all of this sounds fantastic. A lovely day, leisurely strolls, beer, and pizza for lunch, what could go wrong?  I am the one traveling, remember? No bikes, no difficult traversing up hill on a mountainous trail, no climbing twisting stairs, nothing remotely challenging or weirdly placed to have me confused or in an awkward state of anxiety. Nothing. Until we board the train to head back to Villefranche.

Pizza place
Casino

            The trains were crowded, and we stepped on and walked in closer to a door. We wanted to be able to make a quick exit when it stopped. Since our stop was one of many, we watched each one in preparation for our exit. The train approached our stop, and we were ready. With our hands on our bags and phones (mine was in my hand from picture taking), the train stopped. We waited by the door. Nothing happened. We waited a bit more. Nothing. Then we see another door behind us in the opposite direction further down the train. It was open and beckoning passengers to leave.  We only had a few seconds to get to it before the doors closed and the train moved on. We banned together and hurried down the train like Jason Bourne eluding the French police. Our whole vacation started playing out like a Bourne movie. Jumping trains, riding ferries, spotting heavily armed men guarding tourist spots. I was beginning to feel like a rogue spy, only I think their skill set is a little more advanced than mine. With more balance and less falling.

Catching the train from Monte Carlo

 We rushed, with me bringing up the rear. That was a big mistake. Never put the weakest link last, people. The best I could do was a quick walk. Which I did. I get to the doors. Hubby is holding one side, another man holding the other to prevent them from closing on me. A good thought, but the doors were assholes with sadistic tendencies and ignored the men completely.  Fuck chivalry, they needed to close. Move or be moved. They began closing at an alarming rate, pushing Hubby and kind sir out of the way without so much as an, “Oh mon, Dieu. Excusez moi.” I had to leap from the inside of the train to the platform, lest I be the severed body in a pathetic example of a magic show. My foot hit the pavement, and asshole doors hit me in the ass sending me dancing. It was like they couldn’t wait to get rid of the stupid Canadian tourist, so they were expelling me from their wonderful train. “Tres imbecile! You are not worthy of our magnificence!” And spit me out.

 I wobbled like a Weeble on a bender. I could see myself falling. My brain was fully processing how close my ass was to the pavement and the amount of pain it was going to cause. What it didn’t account for, was the precious new hip that needed to be guarded and protected like a little lamb among a pack of wolves. I crashed to the pavement, my hip stinging, and my swearing profound. I hadn’t noticed anyone around me until I felt a pair of hands beneath my arms. The swiftness of a perfect stranger hauling me off the ground, handing my scattered phone to a friend and dashing off into the afternoon sun had me dazed but grateful. Merci, Monsieur.

            I rushed to a bench and sat for few minutes. The shock of falling hadn’t fully set in and my main concern became my bright and shiny new hip. What damage had I done? I stood and measured the pain. I stretched the muscle in my leg. I walked it off like the clumsy Canadian I am. I was fine. It was fine. My dignity was more bruised than my titanium hip. It can withstand a little tumble from a diabolical snooty French train. For fuck’s sake, I didn’t just fall?! Again?! Hubby tutt-tutted and friends gathered in concern. I rubbed my leg and we moved on. Trains suck.

 “C’est un vrai connard!” Yeah, I said it. I Googled French swear words, what are you gonna do? Throw me from another train?  

We stopped at a nice spot overlooking the water and had drinks to help me recover from the traumatic train banishment.

The view that assisted in my recovery

Italian trains are more sophisticated and elegant than the haughty French trains, anyway. At least they didn’t throw me out on my ass. They just made me painfully aware of enormity of Rome and the insignificance of my presence on the planet.

Thanks, France for being an asshole. Thanks, Rome for making me question my existence. You two need to tone it down a bit so we clumsy Canadians can try to Jason Bourne our way across the continent. It would make for a more exciting adventure. And better stories than, “that time in France when I fell again, only this time off Satan’s train….”  

Top Ten Shitty Things I Did Last Week

Posted in Doggie Diaries, Top Ten by

I’m not sure if I accomplished anything worthwhile besides trying to convince Hubby he should start packing for our trip. We leave in a week. He’s still trying to decide what to wear. And to complicate matters, we are only packing a carry on. For a two-week vacation. Aside from that, I think I managed to clean the main floor of the house and do a half-assed job at making one dinner, but I think I’ll run down my week, if for no other reason, to make you feel better about yourself. Because even if you got out of bed without hurting yourself or disturbing the dog, you had a banner week! Go you!

10. I drank a lot on Friday night in front of company who have never seen me drunk before and now I think I’ve scared them off. Or at least, had them rethinking their options to be in my company for future drinking. I may send them a greeting card apologizing for my ill-timed nodding off and pretending I wasn’t drunk. Is there a card for that? I need a card for that.

9. I took credit for fixing the dog. She had a red swollen mass develop inside her eye. After much debating and Google-ing and asking our breeder’s opinion, we concluded she had cherry eye. Mags is 10 years old, and those things don’t happen in older dogs. Breeder Lady told me how to massage the eye in hopes the mass would pop back into place. (it’s referred to as their third eye and can pop out when poked or injured. Or for no good reason at all, like it feels like making an appearance so go ahead and deal with it, bitch) After massaging the area for a few times on Saturday, we awoke Sunday to find Mags back to normal. For Mags, ‘normal’ is up for debate. I’m taking credit for her return to her original state. And for not panic-dialing the vet and sobbing on the phone that my dog was deformed by an unknown entity.

8. I went shopping with Hubby multiple times only for him to debate the return of all the new clothes to which I eye-rolled. I also witnessed the trying on of every article of clothing he owned to decide if they were worthy of vacation space and drawer space. He ended up culling drawers and forming multiple piles of clothes of which are to be further determined where they should go. A truly enjoyable experience akin to stabbing oneself in the eyes with cocktail forks. Okay, that’s a little over-the-top even for me, but I’ve had better experiences in line at a grocery store. A really long line. Like back to the back of the store line, where someone is still trying to pay with nickels and forgot to pick up the salad dressing, so the cashier makes a pithy call to the stock kid to go find it, to discover that it has sold out, so now there is only the crappy kind left. That line.  

7. I tried to feign my way out of saying I didn’t know something when really, I did know and when asked repeatedly if I knew, I tried to keep up the good fight and say, ‘of course I don’t know!’ until I caved and spilled my guts and confessed, and then it got awkward. Until it didn’t. And the thing I knew was a good thing, but I wasn’t supposed to know the thing, but now I think everyone knows the thing, so now everyone is happy to know. You know?

6. Son requested I send pictures of him when he was young and in hockey. Hubby found some and I got into seeing his face when he was little and then I lamented how fast everyone has grown up and how old I am, which then led to remembering I am a grandmother and then I wanted to day drink. But I resisted and had coffee in my Best Grandmother Ever mug and I felt better.

5. I went to the dentist to have a cleaning, only I couldn’t because I had a hip replacement seven months ago and needed to take antibiotics before having any dental procedure. This information would have been advantageous to know before hijacking daughter to drive me there and back and then to work. Son had the car this week and I’m SOL for independently arriving to appointments and trivial things like work, so payback is awesome when Mommy needs to go to the liquor store at 9am to buy wine!  Drive Daughter, drive!

4. I work in an environment where being quiet is paramount. I had students testing last week and decided I needed lunch. I was returning from heating my soup when I opened the door so expertly stealth, I even surprised myself.  I was congratulating myself on my silent manoeuvres when I dropped a glass jar, sending it crashing against the door causing a loud bang to which I laughed out loud and slammed the door. The soup survived. The students were alerted to my awkward entrance. There. Perfect.

3. Apparently, there was a big hockey game on Saturday night, and it was a nail biter and exciting, except I slept through the entire thing and even when Hubby tried to wake me up to tell me how great it was, I nodded and went back to sleep. I wonder if this is how it will be when a big event suddenly happens like the world is set to explode or a big sale happens at Marshall’s. I’ll say, “yeah, yeah, I’m sleeping here,” and miss the whole thing. Maybe I need an alarm clock that can tell me when I’m missing a big event and slap me into consciousness. Don’t let me sleep through the big Marshall’s sale, please.

2. I’ve been trying to decide what to wear on the plane. Everyone is saying to dress comfortably, but for me that’s sweatpants, a hoodie, and my hair in a ponytail. I don’t think that will cut it going to Europe. Pajama pants? If they’re pretty? Ah, if only I could wear that and my slippers it would take the word ‘comfortable’ to a whole new level. I could take a squish-mallow and my eye mask. A blankie? Ugh. I guess I’ll wear pants.

1. Before Mags came down with an eye from the Zombies of the Apocalypse, I referred to her as an asshole a couple of times. Then when her eyeball looked like it grew a twin, I felt guilty, and that the Universe was punishing me for calling my companion an asshole. She is the one thing in the house with a heartbeat who lives to see me walk through the door and who doesn’t criticize my cooking. And who tolerates my ridiculous need to put a book in front of my face instead of rubbing her belly, like a proper human should. But, in my defense, she was barking at the other dogs in the ‘hood for no good reason. And then promptly shit all over the floor. Asshole. Face it, she was embarrassing the family and I was forced to call her out on it. Now that she has recovered, I feel less like an asshole myself and more like the loving companion she deserves.

Until tomorrow when she barks at the neighbours and shits on the floor. Asshole.

A recovered Mags. Her eye twin has retreated, until I call her an asshole again. Ugh.